


Do or Die

by Tallihensia



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Gen, Humor, Missing Scene, as always, but only hints, getting closer, hints of Napollya, just getting it out of my system, mentions of sex without showing, spies being spies, was supposed to be a short little thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallihensia/pseuds/Tallihensia
Summary: Missing scene from the movie from after the shipyard to the next morning. Napoleon and Illya and the in-between.  Just... filling in some gaps. :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Gift Exchange fics, I basically was writing them with the movie on continuous loop in the background so I could get the character voices and personalities right. Which after I was done with the fics, lead to this missing scene fill-in... My mind doesn't stop, sometimes.
> 
> (Really, I think for a cover they should have just fallen into bed together and been discovered like that... ^^)

## Do or Die

Napoleon ran up the stairs, Illya by his side. So close. So very, very close.

The elevators in this hotel were large and pretentious and slow. This gave them a chance. Not much of one, but it was something. Their covers were shredding around them, just as the bullets from the security had torn up the world around them. But none of the bullets had hit. If they were lucky, if they were very lucky...

Illya peeled off at the seventh floor, leaving Napoleon to race on another flight alone. 

They had been lucky at the docks. Well, unlucky for the alarm – who modifies an already top-of-the-line safe? An _empty_ safe? But lucky in that the bullets had all missed. It had taken more than bullets to bring down the Red Peril at the end, and even that hadn't lasted.

_Swimming up through the sea water, a limp weight in his arms._

Napoleon shook off the memory as he opened his door. His memory was usually a gift – sometimes it was a distraction.

He headed straight into the shower, sucking off shoes but leaving the rest on. He smelled like the sea all over. If Victoria came in and smelled that, no story he could spin would be enough. He took the rest of his clothes off in the shower and left them in there, throwing a couple of towels over them to hide the black. He put the shoes under the sink, slipping on his pajama pants and slippers and then he turned as he heard the click of the door lock. 

Thank the deities for slow elevators.

Napoleon flushed the toilet as he put on his robe, a towel around his neck, and grabbed a toothbrush. He came out of the room, completely surprised to see Victoria and letting her get a good look at his shower-damp self.

Sadly, there had been enough time to get back from the shipyard, and everybody knew it. It was there in Victoria's eyes as she picked up the grape and closed the door on her minions, it was there in her approach to him, the smile as she leaned in for a kiss, the run of her hands through his hair. 

She didn't believe him. But he would give it a darn good try.

...

Illya glanced up as something crashed above them and he slowly turned the receiver off. 

"It doesn’t sound as if he needs _your_ help," Miss Teller said, snide and rude. 

She had no concept of a spy's work. This was nothing, nothing at all. Illya's gaze narrowed as he evaluated the girl wrapped into their work because of whose daughter she was. There was something else...

"What happened while we were gone?"

"When did it become 'we'?" Miss Teller asked, still deflecting. "I thought you went out alone."

"Met Solo at shipping yard," Illya replied briefly, cutting out so much of what had happened, so much of what had been between them. Rivals, yet partners. He hadn't been surprised to see Solo there. Not at all. "What happened?"

"Uncle Rudi called," Teller finally told him, shivering yet still defiant. She was tough, this innocent thrown into a world beyond her. Tough, but still vulnerable, hurting from what she had to do, scared. It was there in every word, in the way that she looked at him as if _he_ was the vulnerable one.

Their covers were underwater and drowned, beyond resurrection. First there had been his display the other day, and now this. Why had they given him this role? It was not his usual, and there had been no time to practice. They might have been suspicious of anybody accompanying Miss Teller out of East Germany, but he didn't look or act like a pussy architect, and he didn't need Solo to keep reminding him of it. 

Reminded, Illya turned the receiver back on. 

Gaby gasped, offended beyond words.

Illya glanced over. This is why he hated working with civilians. This was hardly the worst thing he had ever done, let alone listen to. Yet for her it was complete moral repugnance. Along with a bit of fascination if he didn't read that wrong. 

Flushing, he turned it off again. If she wasn't there, he would just leave it on. Good idea. "Go to bed, Chop Shop – we will have busy day tomorrow."

She stared at him. "... Chop Shop?"

Illya flushed beet red. He hadn't meant for that to slip out. He pulled in a breath to explain, or not explain, deflect it so he wouldn't have to explain, and then the breath collided with the water still in his lungs and he bent over, trying to get it out.

When he straightened up, finally, there she was with a glass of water in her hands and a haunted look in her eyes.

The odds of her drugging the water were extremely low. And he had offended her the night before by refusing the vodka. On duty, in the middle of a mission... she was such a civilian. Illya accepted the water with a murmur of thanks, his throat raw and sore. 

_"Follow me." A command and a voice, the sea water freezing all around him and in him as he coughed it up with nothing to stand on nor any support. Only the voice. "Quiet." Memory hazy, danger. Always danger. Swallowing the coughs, and the water, swimming clumsily. " _This_ way." A brief hand, a guide. Water. Danger._

Illya shook his head, and then realized he was shivering all over. "I need shower." He glanced at the little civilian. "It will be okay. Get some rest."

She looked at him in frustration and exasperation, wanting to be more than what she was. 

Placing the glass on the table, Illya went to the extravagant bath room, closing the doors behind him, and placing the receiver on the counter. Why hadn't his case been where he'd left it? Somebody had aspirations of being a spy, most like. He hadn't hidden the biggest of his supplies, since she knew what he was already. He had, though, tracked her, just like he'd tracked the American spy. 

With a sigh, Illya turned on the shower, letting it warm up – worried that even the immediate out of the tap water felt warm to him. He turned on the receiver to low, listened for a moment, and then stripped out of his clothes. He placed his gun and the American's tools on the counter next to the receiver. The tools he'd handed Illya while bragging about how good a thief he was. Solo was that, if a little too self-confident. The same could be said of Illya. 

Stepping into the shower, Illya let the fresh water run over him. So different than the sea. So much warmer. Life, instead of death. The water... and Solo. Illya closed his eyes and tilted his head up.

...

"Oh, very good," Victoria purred, her fingers tangled in Napoleon's hair, nails scraping his scalp.

Napoleon gave himself over to her pleasure, forcing himself to soak in the praise and arch in desire from it, instead of flinching away. He was a spy, the best spy there was, and he could play whatever role was needed of him. Confidence man was another face to his thievery, of secrets and trust as well as goods and services. He could sell her on this, and he would do it by burying even a trace of his other self into this one, showing her only the man who had spent the night in the hotel room, not the one who had broken into her shipping yard.

Victoria cried out, wanton in her indulgence, letting herself be worshiped as she felt she deserved to be. 

When her breaths evened out, she tugged Napoleon up to recline beside her. "So tell me, Jack Devany," she said in her low, throaty voice, "What have you been up to tonight, that had you going to bed so late?"

Napoleon closed his eyes briefly. He'd known she wouldn't let it go. "Waiting for you, my dear. Forever and a day, always waiting."

She laughed, settling a little more comfortably into the sheets and petting his cheek. "Of course you were. But before I showed up?"

"I was... researching your gaps," Napoleon said lightly. "You have an excellent collection of shepherdess figurines... but you're missing a couple. One of them happens to be right here in town, with Viscount Lugui." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"If that went missing," Victoria said dryly, "I would be the first person he would look to. I've asked him several times if he would like to sell it."

Napoleon shrugged, undeterred. He listed off several other possibilities, and the current status of their owners' security. A great deal of the information he had known before, his mind flipping through the catalog rapidly, finding and locating the associations. Some he'd checked into when they arrived in Rome, as he'd looked up some of his old contacts in case he needed it. He presented it all as if he'd spent much of the night doing new work, paving new grounds, finding new information that he could hand to her on a platter. Hopefully not handing his own head over instead.

Victoria seemed to be impressed, though it was hard to tell. She got up and roamed around the room, eating grapes, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Napoleon stayed in the bed and calculated all his points of danger. Most of his specialized equipment was either disguised as something else, put away, or lost in the sea. 

The biggest risk was his clothes in the shower – a towel did not hide much. He should have put them under the sink with the shoes. But they would have had too much water and would have leaked out, attracting more attention. He should have left them mostly dry and tossed them under the sink. But they still smelled like the sea, mostly dry or not. He should have had Peril come up with him and take his clothes away.

Well. There was a nice thought. If a little distracting. He let it take root, watching Victoria with lidded eyes as he stirred. He shouldn't have needed another thought, as beautiful as Victoria was, but it never hurt to have multiple motivations. Danger was its own attraction as well, sometimes.

Napoleon got out of bed and stretched, making sure the length of his body was on display. He slipped on his robe, and wandered casually over to the grapes. 

"You don't need a robe for me," Victoria said in amusement, even as she displayed her own body.

"A man has to have some protection against the cold," Napoleon replied with a grin. "The night is lonely, and the bedclothes are growing chill."

Victoria laughed. "Another round, already? Why Jack, I think you've impressed me. I'll just freshen up..."

Napoleon distracted her, in as memorable a fashion as he could, using his strength and his skill and his endurance to make her forget what she'd been planning to do.

...

Illya frowned. That was an obvious distraction. Why didn't the Cowboy want her--- Oh. Illya glanced to the sink where his gun and tools were sitting, with his dark blending clothes on the floor below. The American must not have been able to appropriately hide his gun or clothes. Or the piece from the accelerator that he'd brought out of the safe. 

This was a problem. Solo couldn't keep her out of the bathroom forever. Especially with all they were doing. It was natural.

Maybe he could... No. Bad idea.

But... Solo _was_ keeping her attention on him well enough. Maybe.

They were all sunk if Victoria found Solo's night-raiding clothes and supplies.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Illya turned off the receiver and quietly left the bathroom. The bedroom was dark – he hoped the little Chop Shop had finally gone to sleep. He grabbed a large shopping bag and emptied the contents on the couch. 

Quickly, but carefully, Illya went up the stairs and poked his nose out the stairwell landing. And just as quickly drew back again. Victoria's guards were outside the door. They were doing a very good job of looking like they couldn't hear a thing going on inside the suite.

Downstairs again. Illya went to their balcony and out into the cool night air. He shivered a bit, but he was back in comfortable slacks and turtleneck, and that was dark enough as long as he was quick. He better not be slow. Rolling the shopping bag up and tucking it inside his waistband, Illya did a scan of nearby balconies and ones across the way. No obvious signs they were being watched.

His height was sometimes a problem, sometimes an advantage. In this case, Illya found his grip and easily climbed the ornate balcony to the one above him. He slipped to one side of the glass doors and peered inside. They were still occupied, good. The door was locked, bad. Illya grimaced down at it, hating to run up against one of his weaknesses. He could pick it, given enough time, or blow it up, which was easier, but neither was practical right now.

Glancing back at the couple inside, Solo had turned them so Victoria's back was to the door and he was mouthing 'no' at Illya. Illya shrugged, and gestured towards the door. 

Solo shook his head. Then he tilted his head down again, returning his attention to Victoria, replying to something she'd said. Behind her back, he waved a hand at Illya.

Hoping he'd interpreted that right, Illya slipped off the side of the balcony, clinging to the edges without going all the way down but where he wouldn't be seen.

A few minutes later, there was a click and the door opened.

"You were the one who was cold earlier," Victoria's amused chuckle preceded her out, clutching Napoleon's robe around her.

"You took care of that rather nicely," Solo replied, following her and not wearing much of anything. 

Illya took a moment to evaluate his partner/enemy without the guise of a business suit around him. He was much more muscular than the suits would have suggested, power hidden inside guile. Illya had felt that muscle while wrestling with him earlier, but he'd had the jump on him and the training. Solo was obviously as good with the physical aspects of a spy's work... and then some.

 _Not bad, Cowboy,_ Illya admitted to himself.

"You look delightful in the moonlight," Solo murmured, running his hands through Victoria's long hair, loose for once from all its usual confinement. "I could," he lowered his head to her neck, "just eat you up."

"You've already done that," Victoria laughed, even as she stretched out to let him have access. "Twice."

They moved around to one of the tables where Illya couldn't see as well. He debated with himself, then hauled himself up. Yes, thoroughly distracted. 

Quickly he slipped inside the room and turned to the bathroom.

There was a crashing sound outside.

"Oops." 

Illya ducked into the bathroom and into the shower, pulling the door shut and hoping it was Cowboy coming in. His foot encountered softness, and he glanced at the towels covering the clothes. No, those weren't a good hiding spot at all. Crouching down, he slipped the shopping bag out and waited.

Solo came into the bathroom, holding his arm. He turned a slow circuit until he saw Illya, then he raised his eyebrow, shaking his head.

Illya frowned back at him and stuffed the clothes... and the gun inside the clothes, into the shopping bag.

Making a verbal show of it, Solo opened and closed some cupboard doors while he gestured below the sink. 

Coming out of the shower, Illya knelt down and opened that door, getting the shoes out and putting them in his bag as well. 

He looked up.

Cowboy was looking down, an amused, fond look upon his face.

Illya scowled. He closed the sink door with a quiet slam – the force blunted by his stopping just before it shut so it made no sound. Without looking again, Illya went back into the shower.

"You are a delight," Solo said out loud.

Illya involuntarily glanced his way. Solo was grinning at him, shaking his head again, but this time with what almost seemed to be approval.

The other spy left the bathroom, carrying the first aid kit with him. What excuse he gave to Victoria for not coming in there with him, Illya would never know. 

Illya snuck out behind Solo, the bag bundled carefully so it wouldn't make any noise while carrying it. Victoria was inside again, giving Solo a tongue-lashing while still being receptive to his attentions. Illya didn't know how the American did it.

Finally, Victoria swept into the bathroom, taking Solo with her. Illya stared at the door for a long moment until he heard the shower start up. Then he went out by way of the balcony again, taking Solo's clothes with him. Along with an extra pair of shoes.

...

There were not enough hours in the night for seduction and sleep both. 

Napoleon saw Victoria out as dawn was breaking over the horizon. He stumbled back to bed, exhausted and knowing he had to get himself up very soon. Victoria wanted him to drop by again that day, and he was sure _she_ wouldn't need any sleep to be bright-eyed and sharp-witted. The woman was inexhaustible. 

A couple of hours later, Napoleon was slowly getting dressed when there was a knock at the door. He froze, cursing his lack of a gun since Peril had taken his. An advantage at the time, but right now...

"Room Service," a male voice called in.

Napoleon hadn't ordered any. He carefully opened the door, presenting his side for a smaller target, while still looking casual and relaxed. 

The bellboy wheeled a cart and tray in. "Per your request," he said, whipping the cover off the tray and handing Napoleon a sheet that showed his 'order'. Napoleon glanced at it – right room number. The hand-writing was Victoria's. That was either a good thing or a bad thing. 

"Thank you," Napoleon tipped the bellboy and sent him on the way and then scowled at the tray. She probably wouldn't poison him without her being there, would she?

Illya appeared on the balcony, slipping the door open and entering in. "She ordered you breakfast?"

"Are you going to be doing this from now on?" Napoleon looked resignedly at his balcony. He'd forgotten to lock it after the madcap adventures of getting his clothes out of the bathroom. 

Illya shoved a bag at him. Napoleon took it and there were his clothes, his gun... and his tools. He'd forgotten he'd given them to Illya _before_ everything went to hell last night. With a humm of pleasure, he checked them over, approving of the way they'd been cleaned and dried, the moving parts oiled. His gun was in similarly good shape. His clothes, alas, were rather the worse for wear for their dunking. Guess the giant Russian wasn't a dry cleaner as well. 

Said giant Russian was poking around in Napoleon's closet, putting his shoes away. "A loss," Illya said with a shrug, "But better your room than mine." 

Napoleon grinned to think of how he might explain his shoes in Illya's room...

Illya tossed the centrifuge part at him, and Napoleon caught it. "This was all that was left in vault?"

"Yes." Napoleon lost his grin and put the part down on his desk. "They'd cleared everything out."

Wandering back to the breakfast tray, Illya picked up a muffin and buttered it, biting in. He apparently didn't think it was poisoned. "Was probably good thing we took swim after, washed the radiation contamination off." 

Napoleon stared, then finally asked. "Does it work that way?"

Illya waved a hand in the air in a so-so motion. "After this mission, we both should avoid radioactivity for awhile."

At least his partner thought there would be an after. Napoleon moved up beside him and poured himself some orange juice. His throat was sore. Reminded, Napoleon took a closer look at his partner, but he was moving easily, no signs of having drowned the night before. 

"Uncle Rudi called," Illya said abruptly. "While we were out. Set up meeting with Miss Teller for today."

Their covers had been so completely shredded. Napoleon settled in to eat his breakfast. Either they were compromised and the opposition was going forward to trap them, or Gaby had covered adequately for Illya and Napoleon had convinced Victoria. 

"Do we continue on?" Napoleon asked quietly, wanting to hear it from somebody besides himself.

"We have no choice." Illya met his eyes grimly. 

Neither of them were happy about it. But they couldn't back out now. There was no chance to regroup. It was do or die, one way or the other.

"I gave Teller one of your trackers – longer range detection than what we were exchanging. Individual tuning. Told her how to use. She will be down soon to check."

"One of my..." Napoleon abandoned breakfast and headed for his desk where he brought out his briefcase and then the secret compartment in it. He shot a glare at the Russian spy. "You did not get this last night!"

"Night before." Illya shrugged. "Thought it might come in handy. Which has."

There were two of his long-range detectors missing. Napoleon sighed. He didn't even bother to shake his head. At some point, you just went with the flow. His Russian partner was a hurricane, a tidal wave, sweeping on through with violence in every action. 

Except for when he was being unexpectly gentle.

Napoleon went back to his breakfast, finishing off what Illya didn't snag for himself. They talked strategy, though they were mostly talking circles around each other. It all depended on Rudi and Victoria, and whether they believed them or not, and if Gaby could twine her way into their reaches far enough to find her father.

"I don't like it." Illya was now compulsively pacing around the living room.

Napoleon sighed over the receptor he was trying to pull a signal from. There was an echo in the room from something, and he couldn't tune it to Gaby's correctly. 

"Could be like leading lamb to slaughter."

That was new. Napoleon turned his attention off the receptor and leaned back in the chair to look at Illya. Or not so new. They didn't usually work with civilians, at least not innocent ones, and not young, pretty, sweet ones. What happened to them was one thing, what happened to the innocents... Napoleon raised his eyebrows. "Going soft, Peril?"

His Russian friend stopped dead in his tracks and shot him a glare, instinctively bridling over the accusation. 

Before they could get into it, the door swung open and Gaby came in. Illya's head whipped from her to him, his panic barely contained. 

Napoleon smirked. He went back to the tracker and asked Gaby if she'd turned it on.

Unexpectedly, she walked up to defiantly put herself in Napoleon's range, holding her skirt up challengingly. Trying to create some discord between him and Peril? Napoleon was so absolutely not going to go there.

Standing up, he handed it – and her – off to Peril, taking himself and the receptor out on the balcony. 

They were eight stories up, and the Russian super wonder had scrambled up and down them like they were on the first floor, or there was a safety net. He'd climbed the building in East Berlin after them as well. When Peril put his mind to it, it was amazing the things he could do. Inhuman... except so very unexpectedly human as well.

Napoleon glanced at where the tracker was now reading a strong, clear signal. 

He would give them a few minutes more.

Or... A car pulled up in front of the hotel and Napoleon leaned to watch Rudi get out of it. Maybe not.

He went in to interrupt and get the show on the road.

Gaby left, and then it was he and Illya.

Napoleon handed the receptor to Illya. "It will be all right," he repeated the Russian's words to him, trying to believe it.

Illya met his gaze and held it.

"I hope so," he finally replied. "Cowboy... you take care too. Do not trust Victoria."

Without an article on that sentence, Napoleon wasn't sure if it was supposed to be "don't you trust her" or a "I don't trust her". Either way, Napoleon replied, "No." He twisted his mouth up. "But we have no choice. Do or die, Peril. Do or die."

The Russian mouthed the words, feeling them out. Then he nodded in approval and left.

Last one standing. Napoleon finished his coffee and got ready for his next act.

* * *

END

**Author's Note:**

> Had an idea for after Victoria left, Napoleon fell asleep and then had a nightmare/PTSD. Illya, still monitoring, went down to help him and ended up cuddling him through the rest of the night. That part didn't make it into this ficlet, because I just wanted to get this done and out of my system, but... I'm going to hold to it for another idea. :) Maybe some other time.  
> \-- edit - companion fic written, just because... [There For You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9131665). Not the same timeline but alternate one. There's a lot of ways for a missing scene here. ^^
> 
> You know, _none_ of them got much sleep during this whole thing. Really. Super spies. ^^


End file.
